Harry: You watch with a frown as Harry paces around the room, clearing his throat over and over again. He woke up with a sore throat and his voice was nearly gone. All that's coming out of his mouth are dry and strangled words. He loudly groans in frustration before kicking his foot into the wall, clearly upset by this. You both know that he can't sing like this. You've already tried giving him some cough medicine, but it hasn't had much of an affect yet. He turns to you with watery eyes and hoarsely mumbles, "It's not working. The medicine...it isn't working." You nibble on your lip and drop your eyes to your lap. You're not sure what to do. You'd hate for Harry to have to miss out on performing because of this. "What am I gonna do?" He asks in a cracked voice. He sighs and manages to say, barely above a whisper, "I can't-I can't let the fans down." You raise your eyes to see him wiping at his eyes, trying his best to control his tears. "Harry," You say, and his head snaps in your direction with a sniffle. "You're going to get better. I promise you. We'll call a doctor to see if there's anything else we can do, and I'll keep giving you medicine every few hours. I know we've got cough drops somewhere in this house, those might help. You will perform tonight. I won't have it any other way."
Liam: You wake up when you feel Liam aggressively tugging at your arm. Alarmed, you jolt upward and quickly ask, "What? What's wrong?" His eyes are wide and his face seems to have lost all of its color. It's obvious that something's wrong. "Liam!" You hiss, annoyed by his silence, "What happened?" He presses his lips together and clears his throat. But when he opens his mouth to speak, only a few squeaks come out. Your shoulders fall and you can feel your heart sinking. The poor boy has lost his voice. Almost shamefully, he shakes his head and holds a finger up, as if telling you to wait a minute. You do so patiently, bundled up in the warmth of your bed until he returns with a notebook and a pen. He flips to a blank page and immediately starts scribbling words onto the page. You watch his hand move as he frantically writes before he passes the notebook to you. Your eyes scan the page, which reads, 'It's gone! We have a show tonight!' As soon as the words process, you look up at him with a worried expression. "Are you serious? Tonight?!" You question, and he responds with a nod. You inhale a deep breath and mumble, "Okay, it's okay. We'll find a way to fix this, okay? You'll be fine." Though Liam isn't fully convinced, he knows the best thing he can do is be optimistic, so he gives you a soft grin and nods his head in agreement.
Niall: "Shh," You soothingly whisper, after gently stroking Niall's hair. He sniffles and buries his face in your neck, wetting your skin with his tears. He clenches his eyes shut, but tears still manage to slip from them. His hands are knotted with yours and his body is draped across yours. You press your lips to his forehead and whisper, "You'll be okay, sweetheart. Harry's coming with some medicine for your throat. That should help you. You'll be alright, I know you will." He lifts his head, staring at you with watery eyes. He sniffles again before letting out a long breath. More tears race down his face, and you untangle one of your hands from his to wipe his tears away. There are very few things, if any at all, that you hate more than watching Niall cry. "Do you need anything? How about some water?" You ask, but Niall shakes his head in response. He grabs your hand again and gives it a squeeze. "Stay," He whispers in a hoarse and broken voice. You swallow hard and nod your head, knowing that what he really needs is for you to be there with him. He would be upset to lose his voice at any time, but he's particularly upset this time because the boys are supposed to perform at an award show later on. Though this is completely out of his control, he still feels as if he'd be letting everyone down by not being able to sing. But you have faith in him. Niall always manages to pull through, and this time won't be any different.
Louis: You knock on your closed bedroom door before letting yourself in to see Louis sprawled across the bed with his head buried in a pillow. "What's wrong?" You ask, with an inquisitive chirp in your voice. "Louis?" You rest your hand on his back, rubbing it a little to gain his attention. His back rises and falls as he breathes, but he doesn't seem to acknowledge your presence. "Louis," You try again, "Tell me what's wrong. You know I won't stop asking you until you tell me." He shakes his head, shooing you away with his hand. "Hey," You whine, "Don't be that way. I'm trying to help you!" He raises his head and tries to say something, but you can hardly hear his tiny and strangled voice. "What?" You ask, stepping closer. He sighs and tries again, but it isn't any better. You lean in close enough to hear him whisper, "I've lost my voice." He stares at you for a second, watching the realization come to you, before he drops his head onto his pillow again. "Oh," You say, lowering your eyes. "Well..." You start, "Just rest it for a while. You were probably too loud at your show last night." He nods his head into his pillow, agreeing with you. You pat his back, and with a giggle, you can't help but to say, "And in the meantime, I'll be enjoying the silence."
Zayn: "Here, take this," You say to Zayn as you hand him a little cup with a small amount of cough medicine for him, hoping it'll help clear up his throat. He's been complaining about a sore throat for days, and just now, it seems to be having serious effects on him. He can hardly speak-any use of his voice is painful and barely audible. And the worst part is that he has to perform with the rest of the boys in a few hours. Everyone knows it won't be the same without Zayn's high notes. He throws his head back and swallows the bitter-tasting medicine, crinkling his face at the taste. You chuckle and say, "Want some water to wash it down?" He nods his head and you disappear, only to return moments later with a glass of water in your hands. You hand the glass to him with a smile and he responds with the same smile. After taking a long sip from the glass, he wipes at his mouth and hoarsely says, "Thanks." You nod and say, "Of course. Gotta take care of my Zayn!" He grins at you and leans up to press his lips to your forehead, grateful for all of your support.
